


The Death of Tyranus

by MissTeaVee



Series: The Moderator's Universe [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: I am only sort of aware of the RC commando book characters so hopefully they were done justice, Jango's sister didn't become a death watch slave in this verse because I hate that trope, Other, Violent, beheadings, coarse language, hella au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 14:15:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15731079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissTeaVee/pseuds/MissTeaVee
Summary: Part of my "Collections from a moderator's universe" stories, just.... violent enough that I figured to separate it a bit. A lot of context is likely missing for most people, but hopefully it's still enjoyable.Basically Some Clones are Force Sensitive, Jango Survived Past Geonosis and wants to kill Dooku, and Dooku survived and escaped that confrontation above Coruscant.





	The Death of Tyranus

You know, you would make an excellent mando,” Jango said idly as he polished the beskar sword in his hand.  He’d custom ordered it a couple months ago and he had gone back to Concord Dawn specifically to pick it up. It was a beautiful weapon; mirror-polished and sharp enough to peel a shadow from the ground. There was a power pack built into the hilt that would electrify the blade, making it a match for even a Jedi’s lightsaber. The person he was talking to briefly glanced at him and then back at her own swords, which were made of energy and Ergo did not need polishing.

“Are you offering me a position in your family?” The night sister sneered. Jango chuckled and shook his head.

“Course not, but desire for revenge and your love of using violence and lack of any sort of a foolish need of morality or honor is extremely mando,”  he shrugged expansively. “ I'm not saying there's no place for Honor of course, but so many people use it as an excuse to be stupid.”

“ That's very true,” Ventress said turning on one of her lightsabers and giving it a little swing, considering the blade with narrowed eyes. “And soon…”

“Yes… I think we’re about ready,” Jango smiled, testing the edge of his blade by shaving  a patch of hair off his forearm. it cut cleanly, leaving behind only skin, reddened slightly by the razor-thin edge. Smirking ever-so-slightly Jango sheathed his blade. It would strike true, when the time came.

\-----

it'd taken them a while to get to this point; First they’d gone looking for the nightsister,  luckily for them the young Jedi Ahsoka had been more than willing to give up the general location of their target. convincing Ventress to join their little Endeavor had taken some effort but nothing brought people together like the concept of bloody Revenge. Especially when said revenge had long been given up as an impossibility. What Ventress did not understand was that when facing a Sith Lord you  you needed more than just the skills to Kill a Jedi, you needed the skills to kill a force-user who wanted to make you suffer as you died. And, well, there were a few people more adept at killing Jedi or Sith than Mandalorians.

And Jango had his motivation, plenty of it to see Dooku dead. It was actually kind of funny to think about. As a young 14 year old boy, he had made a vow to kill every single Jedi who had been on Galidraan on that fateful day that he had lost most of his close friends. He had had to give up more or less on that goal over the years though he never had avoided a chance at taking down any Jedi he met. But after his supposed death at the hands of General Windu, General Plo had convinced Windu to Grant the bounty hunter enough Mercy to remain living free so he could search for Boba. The caveat was that remained discreet and let people think he was dead,  But he had found himself free to track down and kill a few more of his long term targets in the time after recovering his son. Perhaps holding onto grudges was unhealthy but Jango was not one to forget a face. And he had killed every single Jedi that’d been responsible for the wiping out of the Mandalorian watch, save for a few who had managed to get offed on their own before he got to them, and one more.

Now Jango was preparing to cut the thread of life in the last of that hated group. Count Dooku. Soon enough he would also be dead. His having left the Jedi order was not enough to satisfy Jango, only Dooku’s death would suffice. The Besk’ar sword that Jango was strapping to his back would be a Assurance enough of that.

A dozen or so highly skilled mando Warriors, One ex Jedi, Ventress and several slugthrowers purchased extra insurance. He was no fool nor honorable enough to go one on one against Tyranus when he could have the advantage of numbers and tactics on his side.

\-----

“I wish I could be there for it,” Boba said wistfully over comm. Jango shot the hologram a small smile.

“I know, but someone has to keep up appearances,” Jango said. “You told the Alphas yet?”

“They pitched me off the landing platform into the sea! What do you think!?” Boba snapped. Jango snorted, shaking his head as Vau on another line cackled.

“Yeah, alright, make em wait a bit,” Jango snorted softly. “Vau, the Skirata boys back there yet?”

“Yes Alor.”

“Good, good. And how’s our esteemed ally holding up?”

“Out for a walk. Probably looking for a neck to drain of blood.”

That got a round of chuckling from everyone in the conference call, Jango turned his attention to the hologram of a Mandalorian clan chief based on Coruscant. “How goes the hunting in the big city?”

“Very well, your Terror squad has been marvelous at clearing out the bolt holes. I can’t believe the Pacifists really believe Death Watch is a small terrorist organization. We’ve been chasing so much credit flow these last few weeks,” She replied, spreading her hands. “No clones in the Coruscant branch so far.”

“Probably easiest to keep them under control if they prevent their precious shock troops from interacting with the Republic boys,” Vau opined.

“Plus with the Republic troops having personhood, last thing Death Watch wants is the poor men that they’ve bought realizing that they’re owed something better,” Interjected Jango. “Any new bodies Nix?”

“Five,” The female-bodied version of himself grinned wolfishly. “All disposed of. Two of them were wearing beskar’gem so we’ve added it to the collection.

“Keep up the good work,” Jango  gave her a nod, receiving a two fingered salute in return. He turned his attention back to Boba’s hologram.”Bring the Alpha’s their new toys son. Once you’re done, pick up your strill pup and spend just enough time socializing to be remembered.”

“Mmm, there’s apparently a collection of things for us in our old quarters,” Boba said. “Should I get it?”

Jango hummed thoughtfully, then nodded. “Yeah. Probably.”

\------

 

He liked to consider himself a practical man, and he was, overall. But revenge was the Mandalorian way, and he’d been raised by a man who considered it an important part of keeping your life running smoothly. Jaster, not his biological father. If the Death Watch hadn’t decided to murder Jango’s parents, he and his sister probably would’ve grown up farmers like them, maybe joined the Journeyman Protectors like dad. But instead they’d seen their loved ones murdered, their homestead burned. Arla had barely escaped the clutches of the filthy _Demagolka’e_ who’d wanted to claim her as a prize. They’d been inducted into the militaristic lifestyle of the traditional Mandalorian Mercenary by Jaster, and neither had never looked back.

Serenno was a high-tech world, and the approach had to be subtle if they didn’t want to be picked up. Jango pulled the Slave-1 out of hyperspace well out of sensor range of the separatist blockade, waiting on the rest of his crew. He had Arla with him, sitting in the co-pilot’s seat with one of her strills resting at her feet. The other five he’d insisted on leaving in the cargo hold, lest the reek of them overpower him and the other male-bodied Mandos aboard. That number included Vau, and of course _his_ strill Mirdalan. There was Ordo, Darman and Fi Skirata, and Etain Tur-Mukan, all marvellously arrayed in their Beskar’gem. The ex Jedi was adjusting her belt, the blaster her husband had gifted her still unfamiliar in her hand, but the lightsaber on her belt would likely see the most action anyway.

Ventress had her own ship, as did Skirata; Jango wasn’t crazy enough to keep Kal and Walon in confined quarters for longer than five minutes at a time. Except for the two Force users, every person in their group had a blaster on their hip, but also a slugthrower. Often sneered at as primitive, the ballistic guns fired off individual lead shots. They were not as accurate as blaster, nor did they have the range, but they had one nasty little advantage that made them ideal for killing a Jedi or Sith. The projectiles, when blocked by a lightsaber, would turn into liquid metal and splatter, acting like shrapnel from a grenade, and impacting the lightsaber’s fool owner. They had paid quite a sum for a set of semi-automatic slugthrowers, but also three slugthrower snipers, now in the hands of Arla, Ordo, and Fi.

Once all three ships were out of hyperspace, Ventress took the lead. The separatist blockade was in a holding orbit around Serenno’s equator, and they flew a long slow circuit to come up on the planet on its south pole. Approaching a planet’s gravity field from odd angles was risky, but less so than trying to sneak past so many warships. All three ships were small enough to avoid detection in this odd maneuver, but only if they went one at a time, and made no transmissions. Jango kept his eyes on the Chrono; they’d done the calculations and knew it would take each ship around 45 minutes to make the careful approach and descent to the planet’s atmosphere. Once the first 45 minutes were up, he rolled Slave-1 ever so slightly, giving a wave out the window to Skirata’s ship, before starting his own approach.

It was an agonizingly slow and careful descent into the planet’s atmosphere, and the ship was buffeted by antarctic weather as he brought them low enough that the planet’s own magnetic and electronic fields made the Slave-1 invisible to the Separatist ships above, but Jango had not lived for so long by being incautious, and only once he was sure he was at the correct elevation, did he accelerate enough to take the ship towards the more comfortable climate where Dooku’s Estates resided. He heaved a small sigh, hating to use up so much fuel flying through atmo, but it was necessary.

“Skirata should be starting his descent now,” Commented Vau briefly. Jango nodded, settling in for the long, careful flight.

\-----

Landing was a relief. Everyone disembarked, and the strills were allowed to run off their excess energy. Jango walked over to where Ventress was standing and she glanced at him, lip curled in a snarl. “Ready?” He asked her.

“I will see him dead by my hand,” She said, same has she’d said a dozen times. Jango shrugged affably.

“If you want to kill him, be there when he’s down, I’m not waiting on you if I get the chance,” He smiled. Ventress snorted and turned back to staring at the horizon.

“How long until your friends get here?”

“Another forty five or so minutes unless they have to redirect to avoid traffic.”

“Hmm.” She folded her arms, closing her eyes and adapting a posture of patience. A predator waiting for its prey.

\---- 

“You know what I’m thinking right now?” Fi said, a chuckle evident in his voice.

“What?” Asked Kal, sounding a bit put off by his son’s flippancy.

“That building is shaped like a fake cock,” Fi said, unperturbed by his adoptive father’s temper. Despite himself, Jango snorted out a laugh, and he wasn’t the only person, if the choking noises over comm were any indication. “Decent one too, except for the ridges that could pinch if you-”

“Okay that’s enough,” Said Jango, wanting to keep everyone on track. “Don’t make someone accidentally break cover because they’re laughing at your shitty jokes.”

“Really I was wondering what it said about Dooku if he likes living in a steel Dil-”

“Fi! Shut up and get to work!” Skirata snapped.

“Yes, Sir,” Fi huffed, the comms going silent as everyone worked their way into position.

\------

 

Dooku, Count of Serenno was not having the best of days. He should have expected his Master’s betrayl and yet the scope of it had caught him off guard. How could he salvage this and escape with his dignity, decorum, and freedom intact? He had meditated long hours as his shattered arm healed, trying to make a plan. None had come to him, but he knew he’d have to act fast. No doubt Sidious would be sending people to kill him, to discredit him. At the very least, his old master hadn’t done Dooku the disservice of attempting to contact him and ‘explain the misunderstanding.’ It would’ve been an insult to the both of them.

He stood from his chair and left the room, perhaps a walk through his gardens would clear his head. It seemed that the Force was clouded to his eyes, and he wondered if it was Sidious doing it to him as he’d clouded the Force to the Jedi. He took the lift down and stepped out, breathing in the fresh air.

There was a glimmer of warning in the Force, and he paused to consider it.

\----

“Everyone freeze!” Arla hissed, the radio comms they were using just a little staticy. the outdated tech was less likely to get them caught than proper FTL commsets, bit Ventress had decided that she hated the background noise. Still, she froze, listening as the chief of her new allies asked for a report. Arla- Fett’s sister, who Ventress found herself liking despite herself, Answered in a terse tone. “The ol Sith just wandered outta his castle. Might be on to us.”

No, she wouldn’t be denied her revenge, not now! Not when she was so close!

Asajj had given up on Dooku, truly and completely. All her attempts at revenge had failed, and it had left her alone in the universe again. If she’d just given up and become a Nightsister once she found them…

There was no space for regret anymore. She was not Jedi, she was not Sith, but she still remembered the teachings of both her masters in the Force. She could not wilt away on regret, let it rule her, she could only move forward. She’d been given one last shot at revenge by the supposedly dead Bounty Hunter, they’d spent months preparing for it. She would not see it all for naught.

Being approached by that snot-nosed brat to join another merry venture of his hadn’t appealed to her, but he’d addressed her by name, something she hadn’t given him, and laid a case of credits on the table between them at stated that he needed information only she could provide. It had been enough to pique her curiosity, and there had been no warning in the Force so she’d allowed herself to be led to the boy’s ship. And there she’d been inducted into the most delightful conspiracy, involving the Man who had been template to the Republic’s clone army, and who taught her about her former Master’s role in the formation of said army. She’d had her eyes opened to a conspiracy she could never have guessed at, and made a nice sum of credits along the way.

Being side tracked to liberate several of Fett’s clones had been frustrating, but when he showed her the cash flow that originated from Dooku, and how cutting off Dooku’s possibly allies and escape routes would help them out, she’d been mollified, but impatient. But they were here now, and once it was over, she could go back to living her life, satisfied that the old bastard had gotten what he deserved. But only if they hadn’t somehow _ruined_ it at the very last stage!

She waited, tense, until Arla declared that it just looked like he was taking a stroll around his acerage. Relieved, Ventress settled, waiting for the word to move in.

\--------

Nothing moved, nothing jumped out to him as wrong. So after several long moments, Dooku decided that the feel of danger he was sensing was due to his erstwhile master, and continued down across the terrace. His palace grounds were immaculate, pristine, and he breathed freely, absently touching his recently healed elbow. Damned clones. He couldn’t help but wonder if his former Master was severely underestimating them, and the thought did please him somewhat considering the circumstances-

A bootprint? On his immaculate veranda? He looked around, tension bleeding back into him, one hand moving to rest on his lightsaber. Then, in the Force, a flash of light, the retort of a blaster- he had drawn his lightsaber in an instant and swung it in an arc, blocking three shots from three directions-

Pain shot through his arm and torso, he stumbled back in shock. Not blaster bolta, projectiles, he realized too late.  Lead, turned molten by his own lightsaber had embedded itself in his body. He fled across the open plateau of his property, hearing more shots, sensing them just missing him as the assassins tried to follow his force speed. Where were his magnaguards? Why weren’t they responding!?

Another warning in the Force and he swung to the side, someone leaping at him from behind a sculpture- Ventress!? How- he blocked her attack but before he could push her back, fighting the agony of burning metal in his akin, another figure lept at him and had to flex to avoid the blow of a metal sword. The air sizzled where it had nearly cut him, and Dooku suddenly found his escape route blocked by a Mandalorian in silver-blue armor. He took a defensive stance, trying to summon the Force to himself through his pain.

“What does Deathwatch Gain by siding with you, Ventress?” he asked to buy time as he tried to circle behind a stone pillar.

“We aren't Deathwatch,” growled the Mandalorian, and Dooku felt his blood run cold in recognition. Impossible- it couldn’t be Fett. He found himself dodging on instinct as Ventress lept forward, driving him down the path back towards where the snipers had begun the assault. He pressed close to his former apprentice, betting that they wouldn’t dare fire with the risk of hitting an ally. Indeed, it seemed that Jango held back, giving the Count time to rally himself and face his former apprentice with all his resolve, despite the agony of his shrapnel wounds.

It could not last, he knew this, and suddenly Fett was lunging in, propelled by his jetpack. Dooku lunged aside and meant to strike him down, but there was suddenly a green saber blocking him. He grunted in shock, a Mandalorian in gold and blue armor crossing sabers with him. “Surprise,” growled a woman’s voice.

No, a Jedi, he could sense her in the Force now. A jedi in Mandalorian armour. What madness was this!? He parried and dodged, his three opponents circling and moving as one; whenever he moved to block or strike, there were two more energy blades waiting to dart in. He circled desperately, retreating away from them, knowing he couldn’t keep fighting so disadvantaged, and there were snipers somewhere, waiting and watching. He leapt back several yards, and hurriedly used the Force to shove his three attackers back before turning to flee again. He could hear the snipers shooting, sense the bullets barely missing him as he turned, vaulting a fence. There was an armored figured perching on a statue- turned away, having to do an odd hop-skip to avoid another bullet and then a roll, rapid-fire projectiles landing around him from on high. He cursed angrily- no, fearfully, realizing that he was surrounded on all sides.

The forest! He kept fleeing, surely the cover of scrub brush would help him lose his pursuit! Only the Force sustained him; every step agony, the cooled lead in his flesh cutting him with every impact of his feet with the ground. He could sense his pursuers, he could almost taste their bloodlust. There would be no quarter for him. He could make the trees, he knew it, all he had to do was-

“Mirdalan!” Someone shouted. “ _Kotir_!”

He kept running, but then there were many feet surrounding him and he swung, blade ready to strike, but jaws were closing around his wrist and he went down with a shout, a hideous beast-  a strill, by the Force, ws on top of him, biting down on his arm, grasping at his body with taloned feet, and he cried out in pain, struggling desperately to get free, hearing feet approaching, and, by Force, more strill, howling as they charged.

He managed to swing his saber, and the Strill yelped in pain, leaping off, and the Count pushed to his feet, continuing to run, hearing the shouts of his pursuers, the snarls of their strills.

Jango Fett, aged fourteen, had killed eight Jedi with a rock and his bare hands. The man was an adult now, armed with some strange sword that was immune to the bite of a lightsaber, had too many allies, all armed with weapons meant specifically for killing Force users. Being afraid was only sensible. Not that the Count really had the time to think about it, fleeing for his life as he was. He jinxed left and right through the brush, then took a flying leap to the top of a large pile of rubble, then again into a tree. Here, he paused, listening to the din and shaking. The noise died off, the strills whuffing to each other and their handlers. He tried to bring his wildly beating heart under control, to silence the harsh panting.

His only hope was not to be found.

He stood pressed to that tree trunk, seeing a pair of warriors in Mandalorian armor walk by, holding his breath. How many had there been? Jango, Ventress, the three snipers. The Jedi in gold and yellow. These two below might be snipers, he hoped that was the case, but a sinking feeling told the Count that he was vastly outnumbered and low on good fortune. Where the devil were his droids? He quietly fumbled for his comm and tapped in the frequency to summon his ship. There was an excited shout from somewhere in the surrounding brush and Dooku immediately realized that somehow, they’d hacked into his network, and he’d compromised himself. He threw the comm as far as it’d go with the Force, and then tried to move, but the pain of those first blows of the slugthrower guns, the Strill’s bite to his arm halted him. How he’d managed to hold onto his lightsaber was a mystery, but it was something, and he would not let himself be parted from it.

With a great effort of will, the Count managed to drag himself higher into the tree, snarling to himself as he heard the Mandalorians calling out to him, telling him to hand himself over and they’d make it quick and painless. Not encouraging. Not at all.

A glimmer of warning in the Force had him jerking out of his daze and leaping just in time to avoid a hail of slugthrower rounds. Proof that there were indeed more hunters. Half-mad with panic, Dooku hit the ground running, aiming for his Estate. If he could get to his ship he could escape. He heard his pursuers shouting, but kept going. He could make it, he could make it; all he had to do was keep moving. The howl of a hunting strill behind him brought fresh strength to his agonized legs. He caught motion out of the corner of his eye- two more strills, perched in the branches of a tree- _Strill can glide_ \- He dove into a roll to avoid the flying predators, chest burning, knowing that to stop or slow was to die.

He burst out of the woods and launched over the terraced stones of his estate, giving himself more space from the Strills. His two-legged pursuers were still in the woods, and he let himself feel the hope that he would survive this. His ship was three hundred yards away, he could make it-

The retort of a blaster in the Force and he ducked. Another shot, and he ducked again, still running. He saw the two Mandalorians crouched, ready to pounce in his hedge at the last moment and dodged, but the one in copper armor moved bodily, and Dooku had been so focused on getting to his ship that he didn’t have time to redirect. Gauntlets closed around his elbow. He swung his saber, intending to behead his captor, but in that instant the strills were on him, and he howled in pain as teeth closed around his weapon hand, snapped into his thighs and glutes, one beast tearing into his shoulder. No he couldn’t die like this he deserved-

_“Gev! Gev! Gev!”_

_“Gev Mirdalan!”_

The strills froze in place, jaws still locked in the Count’s flesh. He instinctively tried to struggle, beyond higher thought, the agony of their teeth overpowering him. There were boots running up, there was shouting and all he could do was struggle like a trapped animal under the teeth of seven strills, all whining eagerly for permission to tear him to shreds. He didn’t even notice the rattle of chains as they were clapped around his neck until his connection to the Force was severed. For a terrible second, Dooku was convinced he had died then and there. And then he heard the Strills' masters speak the word _Mav._ Free, loose.

Immediately, the beasts released him and backed off. He tried to struggle to his feet but hands were grasping him shoving his head forward so the Force-inhibiting collar could be better secured, and cuffing his wrists with more Inhibitors, twisting them behind his back painfully. His lightsaber was picked up by a black-armored Mando, who turned it off and tossed it in their hand with an air of satisfaction.

“ _Jate oya’karir_ , Tyranus,” Said the voice of Jango as he walked around the group to stand just in front of the kneeling count, his electrified sword in hand. “Good to see you again.”

“I see that… reports of your death were… greatly exaggerated,” Dooku said through his agony. He was bleeding through every wound these warriors around him had left, flesh torn by the fangs and claws of their beasts, and without the Force… he couldn’t sustain himself. But they’d taken him alive, and that meant he could possibly survive this. Jango gestured to someone, and the Jedi in gold and blue appeared, saber held in position to cauterize Dooku’s wounds. He cringed in anticipation, and tried to appeal to her. “This is not… it is not the Jedi way to torture prisoners.”

She paused, then gave the smallest shrug. “I am not a Jedi anymore.”

He was doomed. His final hope had been to appeal to the code of a Jedi, and there was no such person here. The restraints were not a sign of them wanting to keep him prisoner, just helpless long enough to make him suffer. The Count swallowed, feeling despair settle into his gut. Seeing Ventress watching with anticipation did nothing to soothe him. He twitched at each burn of the blue lightsaber into his flesh, hissing through his teeth. Then, once it was done, his hair was grasped and his head yanked back, something deposited in his mouth. He choked and tried to spit it out, but a hand held his mouth shut.

“It’s pharma, you might want to take it,” Said the one holding him. Dooku hesitated to take the advice, but he didn’t have many options, so he swallowed down the little pill. Almost immediately, the agony in his body faded to a more manageable ache. His hair was released, and the Count looked warily up at Fett. He did not thank them for the painkiller, certain it wasn’t mercy. A man half distracted by pain couldn’t talk.

He could hear others approaching, the low chuckles between them like hounds eager for a feast. He was their kill and they were toying with him, knowing he was too weak to fight back. His eyes flicked to Ventress; there was no mercy there. Jango pulled off his helmet and knelt slowly until he was at eye level with the Count, and Dooku met his gaze steadily.

“There is something you can do that would be very helpful, Tyranus,” Jango said. “You see, we know there is another Sith Lord in high places in the Republic, but we don’t have the evidence needed to dethrone him.”

“And… if I help you with this, you let me live?” Dooku asked suspiciously. Jango laughed, shaking his head.

“Oh no, no. There’s too many of us here with grudges against you for that, Tyranus,” He gestured at himself, at Ventress, in the direction of several of the Mandalorians who chuckled. Clones, Dooku realized belatedly. “But… the longer you’re alive, the more chance you might be able to make a daring escape, and I know you have no desire to protect your fellow Sith. If you’re going to die anyway, why not give us the information we need to have him killed off too?”

Lord Tyranus, Count of Serenno mulled that over for several seconds, before nodding slowly. “Chancellor Palpatine is Darth Sidious. A decade and a half ago, he approached me with the plan that had started by himself and his master, Darth Plagueis, one Hugo Damask.”

“Really!? Now that sure is interesting,” Jango glanced around, and Dooku realized belatedly that one of the clones was filming them. “Do you have proof that the Chancellor is a Sith Lord? Not to mention proof that said Sith Lord is betraying the Republic. I don’t think it’s actually illegal to use the ‘evil’ side of the Force,” Had Fett seriously used his fingers to make air quotes? How uncivilized. Not that Dooku was particularly in the right position to comment. “Oh and perhaps you could tell us all about the supposed aggression control chips, we discovered those.”

“Ah…” the Count blinked, taken aback. “The chips were Sidious's plan, though i paid to have them designed. They override higher thought in the clones and make them more docile, when activated, they also instill them with an unstoppable desire to kill any Jedi they meet.”

“yeah, we sure found out about that,” Jango scowled. “Funny story, Tyranus, had you told me from the start that your intent was to wipe out the Jedi, I would've been more than happy to teach my clones all there is to know about killing them. I would’ve made sure they knew the true side of the Jettise, and i would’ve happily taught them how to hide their dislike of their masters. You, then Sifo-Dyas told me you wanted loyal soldiers of the Republic. So i taught them loyalty.”

Dooku stared at Fett, his stomach weighted down. “So to say…”

“If I’d been included in your little plan then we wouldn’t be here now,” Jango’s lips quirked. “I’d have given you what you really wanted and you wouldn’t even have needed those chips to have the Jedi wiped out.”

“I see,” Dooku murmured, swallowing. “Still, it could happen that way, you could convert your clones to the Separatists by their loyalty to you and-”

“No,” Jango’s affable expression faded into a flat stare. He’d said once that while on the job he didn't let any emotion into his work, and somehow, seeing the bounty hunter in perfect control of himself, not angry, not eager, was the most frightening thing. Jango could not be reasoned with, because he had already worked out all the logical issues long ago. “You took my son into slavery-”

“I bought him from Aurra Sing with the intent to raise him into a warrior apprentice!” Dooku protested. Jango kept speaking as if he hadn’t heard.

“You funded my enemies in Death Watch, and oh, can’t forget,” here, Jango’s expression did turn dark, furious. “You were there the day the Jedi massacred my people. You were one of the ones i didn’t succeed at killing. In fact, of the Jedi who were at Galidraan, you’re the very last survivor, congratulations.”

“Ah…” the Count swallowed nervously, realizing something. “And… All that I’ve told you, you already knew, didn’t you. Nothing has surprised you.”

Jango smiled. “Right you are, Tyranus. But I need evidence. So tell me where to find it.”

“How could you know?” Dooku asked, curious despite everything. Jango smiled.

“Your ex Master kept a collection of Force Sensitive clones as his bodyguard. He treated them as… curious pets. Unfortunately for him, when they got Personhood, several quit, and one of them could see the deaths that a person had caused in their life, such as say, that of one Darth Plagueis. That clone was more than happy to tell me when we met. The rest… well,” he shrugged, and smiled. Should Dooku somehow escape this trap and live for a thousand more years, he would never forget nor stop fearing that predator’s grin. “I’m not wasting time telling you when you aren't living out the hour.”

Somehow, Tyranus had forgotten that he was surrounded for a blissful moment, so fascinated by his chief tormentor. But now the mandalorian pack announced themselves again, a low rumble of laughter, more fierce and threatening than snarling. They were eager, so eager to see him bleed. The longer he could speak, the more chance he had of escaping, or using the barest link to the Force he had left to bring down a damned pillar on Jango’s head.

“Anyway,” Jango said, absently swinging his sword. It hissed softly, as if it was so sharp that it was cutting through the very atoms of the air around them. It would cut just a smoothly through flesh and bone, Dooku suspected with a fearful shudder.

_There is no death, young apprentice, only the Force. Fear not, the next great adventure, should you._

He wanted to live. He wanted to break free, to throw these impudent bounty hunters away and stalk away regally. But he could not. He lived only as long as it amused them to allow it. Jango used the sword to point at Dooku’s palace. “How would we go about finding proof of your dealings with the Chancellor?”

“Ah… well I have records in my personal computer,” Dooku said. “It requires my voice activation.”

“He’s lying,” Ventress hissed. “I’ve seen him activate it with his handprint. Besides, if we brought him in, he could command his droids to reactivate.”

Jango nodded, looking down at Dooku with a small smirk. “Nice try though. Now what records would these be?”

Swallowing the bitter gall, Tyranus decided that if he was going to die, he was going to be certain of Sidious’ own damnation. “Archived security footage. He visited here, near the beginning of the war to discuss what systems I should heavily encourage to join the separatists. My Master always wore a hooded cloak when visiting, but he had to remove it to act as the Chancellor when he was needed to speak to a Republican Senator. There is footage of him assuming both his true persona, and that of the kindly old man.”

“Oh that’s just marvellous,” Jango tapped his fingers on the blade, smiling. “And the date and time of this recording?”

Tyranus hesitated a long moment. There was an impatient snort from behind him. “Get on with it you old _shabuir_ , or I’ll cut your head off myself and fuck the stump of your-”

“Jaing!” Gasped a few voices, indignant and disgusted, though a low chuckle from the black-armored warrior who was holding back one of the strills indicated not everyone dissaproved of the threat. Despite everything, Dooku couldn’t help the disgusted glare, but he spoke anyway, giving Jango the date and time to seek.

“Marvellous! That recording should be all we need, really. But we’ll root around some more anyway, just because,” Jango smiled, looking at the fallen Jedi before him, and tilting his head thoughtfully. Then, he glanced to Ventress and took a step back, giving the smallest bow as he sheathed his sword.

Her face lit with a cruel sort of pleasure, and one red lightsaber activated. _There is no death, only the Force._ He regarded her, his former apprentice that he had thought killed, and felt a strange twinge of pride, seeing her coming to kill him. Was it not the Sith way to surpass one’s master? Had he not succeeded at being truly Sith by training his apprentice until she could best him through any means necessary? She must have seen the thoughtful look in his eye, because she paused. He cleared his throat, lifting his chin.

“I’m proud of you, my Apprentice,” He said to her. “You were always listed as my heir, should you kill me, as a truth Sith would.”

“What,” The Red blade dipped, Ventress staring at him with disbelief. “Why?”

“Because that is the Sith way. I intended for us to overthrow my Master together, and then, taking my place as the Sith Lord, you could have become a true Sith apprentice in the Banite way,” Dooku said, uncomfortably aware of the sound of Jango’s boots as he circled out of sight. “I regret that it did not happen like that, and yet, you truly are Sith. Despite what it means, that I am about to die, I am proud of you. All that is mine will be yours upon my passing, should you show my medical droids that I am dead.”

Asajj was speechless for several long seconds, staring at him. Then, the lightsaber deactivated and she stepped forward. For a moment, Tyranus wondered if he’d somehow spared his own life. Then, her lip curled. “I am no Sith.”

She straightened, and looked over Dooku’s shoulder. “He’s all yours,” She declared, then spun on her heel, striding away. There was a thoughtful hum, and the sound of Mandalorian Iron being drawn from its scabbard. Dooku suddenly found himself remembering the interesting tidbit that a head separated from its body would seem to react and respond for several seconds after death.

_There is no Death, only the Force. I am one with the Force and it is one with me._

Would he pass into the Force with the inhibitors weighing his body down? Would the separation of mind and body allow it to flow back into him with his final moments? Could a Sith truly prevent himself from dying even when cut to pieces-

The blade hissed through the air- He was a boy, barely taller than Master Yoda- a proud knight, standing tall- in the Galidraan snow, looking at the young man with horror- mature and proud, renouncing the Jedi- A Sith, cunning and dangerous.

_ThereisnodeathonlytheForce. ThereisnodeathonlytheForceTHEREISNODEATHONLY-_

Impact.

There was no pain, not really. But a sharp sort of pressure that came and went, and he was falling, falling. And he hit the ground and rolled and everything was fading away and his cheek was pressed to the ground. There was a loud impact and his one eye flicked to look, seeing his body. A boot landed in front of him and he looked up to meet Jango’s gaze. Jango who stared unflinchingly at him as everything went grey.

_Thereisn o d  e a t h  o   n   l   y   t h  e   F   o  r   c     e_


End file.
